I’m celebrating, because after two days living on coconut water and white bread, I graduated today to whole wheat bread. You see, I have the flu. Or, “a” flu? Just basic old-fashioned flu, not one of the trendy new viruses (you know the ones). I’m already feeling better, enough to be fantasizing about a fully-loaded veggie burger, (sauerkraut is mandatory), however, I remain shaky-feeling and weak, so my realistic plan for tonight is noodle soup. And maybe a fruit smoothie. (InsyaAllah there will be a burger on Friday.)

Grace is feeling better too, I think. She stopped pining around the brooding nest and started hanging out with Frankie again. So Frankie is more of a paranoid asshole with everybody else, (including his own children), but it’s because he’s protective of Grace. So we can’t fault him. He’s back to finding her morsels of food and making cozy nests for her. (Is he actually an ideal partner?) If they haven’t already, they’ll probably start mating again soon. (That decision is up to Grace.) Those two are inseparable.

Doing a little “research”, I realized that our chickens are probably different from the domestic chicken breeds popular in North America and Europe. Frankie is similar in appearance to the red junglefowl. This is the wild bird, native to Southeast Asia including Indonesia, from which chickens were domesticated thousands of years ago (~8,000). Red junglefowl cocks are strikingly handsome birds, as is Frankie. The wikipedia article notes that they are sometimes used in cock fighting, which remains popular around here (in Bali). When wikipedia says “sometimes” about Indonesia, I have learned to interpret that as “often”. So I would imagine Frankie’s genetics are pretty close to that source, and it’s not surprising that he would come across as somewhat feral.

We “acquired” Frankie before we moved into our house, when he wandered onto our property and didn’t feel like leaving. So he has lived here longer than we have. He was still a chick back then, but apparently old enough for independence. We later learned that he had been chased away from our neighbor Pak T’s house, by their cat. (Pak T said we could keep him.) Then we “acquired” Grace when Pak S brought her over, also before we moved in, and left her in a small bamboo cage in the yard. This was either a gift or an instance of Pak S not wanting to deal with her, possibly because she had five chicks at the time. (Or it was, for Pak S, an entertaining test of what we would do with a mating pair of chickens? I really don’t know, he just laughed about it when we asked him! All I know is, we weren’t consulted about whether we “wanted” any of them.) Because we didn’t live here yet, our carpenters kind of took care of the chickens. I assumed everything would be ok. But over several nights, those five chicks that came with Grace disappeared. They were probably hunted and eaten by the same cat that had chased Frankie.

When I learned about it, I felt guilty about that, Grace losing all her chicks while she was stuck in the cage. This is one reason I really wanted Grace to experience motherhood, fully, at least once. (My sense of justice!) And that’s what got us into the situation where we have a flock of eleven chickens. Or at least, one flock of nine chickens, and another flock of two chickens. It remains unclear whether Frankie and Grace want to integrate with their children’s flock at all. On second thought, maybe it’s totally clear. The parents and the children simply consider themselves separate flocks.

(Imagine that. I actually said to one of them today… “It’s ok, I have a mean dad too.” …)

For her part, Grace doesn’t look like a red junglefowl hen. She looks very much like this other breed of chicken from Indonesia, also used for cock fighting, the Ayam Cemani. She’s a lovely bird, with a soft and thoughtful look, although my photos haven’t yet captured it. I doubt she’s any kind of pure breed, but she is completely black, with only the faintest blush on her “caruncles”. (There’s a lot of chicken vocabulary to learn.) Another reason I doubt she’s purebred is because wikipedia says Ayam Cemani aren’t good “setters”, whereas Grace is a very broody chicken. When that time comes, she is utterly devoted to sitting on her eggs.

My thinking is this. Most domestic chickens have been bred for egg and/or meat production, and possibly for docility, whereas our chickens have been bred, (and/or taken from the jungle?), for fighting, and/or allowed to breed free-range. As a result, I don’t expect them to be very cuddly birds. But I do expect them to be smart in their own ways, as wild or feral animals are. And they are thoroughly social, with each other and with us. It’s apparent that they consider us (humans) company, they always come “check out” what we’re doing, or sit nearby us (under the awning) when it’s raining and they’re bored, or ask for treats (boiled peanuts). They (warily) eat from our hands. They look at us accusingly when we don’t have peanuts for them. And if I speak to Grace in sweet coos (like Cucurrucucu), Frankie gets testy.

(Although I always think of it as Frankie’s, that song isn’t about a rooster, but a lovesick coo-ing dove. Please click the link if you’ve never heard Caetano Veloso’s rendition. You won’t regret it, it’s heart-achingly lovely. We need more Caetano Veloso and Almodovar in all our lives, don’t we? And then for another version, this one sung by Juan Diego Florés at La Scala is sublime. Watching that reminds me of that one time I was there. Also, watch for the look he gives the loggionisti—it’s so direct!)

Anyway, that’s more-or-less the origin story of our chickens. They showed up in our lives, like our three cats, and we weren’t ever given a real option to say no. And they (unlike the cats, who are now imprisoned in our safe, loving, and amply medicated home) are technically free to leave. Although once a few of Grace’s chicks escaped outside the wall and we spent a rainy afternoon traipsing through overgrown jungle and rice paddies to retrieve them, with Grace frantically waiting back home. She was very upest about it. That was when they were still babies. Now they’re almost grown, the girls will probably start laying soon (if they haven’t already, in secret), and one of the cockerels has, as signaled by his crowing, decided he’s the leader of the flock. The chicks have their own governance structure now. They could fly over the wall if they wanted, but they seem pretty content to hang around here. Even if we are delinquent chicken keepers and have yet to figure out their permanent coop situation. They may not be cuddly, but it’s pretty obvious that they will love when we give them a permanent and roomy chicken house, dry and warm, with brooding boxes, etc. They would live with us in the human house, if we let them. But that’s too much even for me.

By the way, we did eventually screen off the hallway, so the human house is totally off-limits now. Thank goodness, because the poop grew up as they did… the quantity makes it gross, but excellent fertilizer for the gardens. And oh, please pray for us that we never experience an outbreak of avian influenza. (My own symptoms do NOT match those of A H5N1.)

(I still haven’t told you what we do with all the eggs. That can wait for another day.)

Because look at me, I’m still in bed with this flu and I had planned to give myself a solid 3-4 days off of “serious blogging”. But then I accidentally wrote this long post and spent the afternoon reading some of these older posts and listening to music that makes me tear up and/or shout bravissimo and wave my hands around like I’m in The Godfather. And yesterday I read the whole book about learning to speak chicken! Apparently I’m ok at resting the body, but not great at resting the mind. I can’t believe I haven’t had coffee in three days. That’s truly wild.

Maybe it’s because of the full moon? Selamat purnama, everybody. Stay healthy and safe.

Alhamdulillahirabbilalamin. 🌕